


Ink

by gemothy



Category: 16th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, Shakespeare RPF
Genre: M/M, for someone so clever Will Shakespeare is kind of an idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 05:12:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemothy/pseuds/gemothy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will has a lot of words. So does Kit... sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ink

Will has a lot of words. Beautiful words, words that rhyme, words that he just made up but somehow fit so well. Sometimes there are so many that they fill up his head and his heart, and they all come tumbling out at once in ways that make people wonder how he functions as a person, never mind a playwright.

Kit has words too, of course, but his are used more sparingly. He can't afford to let people know them all, for if they have your words they have your heart and soul, and those are in enough danger already.

Will's words make him jumpy, as if they happen too fast and the rest of him can't keep up. They skitter across pages in five directions at once, and Will himself is no different. He trips over his own feet, spills ink everywhere, rolls out of bed with his hair at endearingly strange angles- but he's steady enough when Kit needs carrying home from yet another drunken altercation.

Kit keeps his words close, saving them up until they go sour and burst out as elaboorate blasphemy and things he never meant. He grips his quill tightly when he writes, trying to hold the words back; if he can't control his mouth, at least he can control his fingers.

And when he writes, he writes until his fingers bleed. Ink and blood splatter over pages and leave smears on his life. All he has is ink and blood, ink and blood and Will to drag him from one set of white sheets to land in another... until one day the door shuts behind him in that little room and he just _knows_ his reckoning was all wrong.

And then only blood.

But Will still has all the time in the world. He still has all that ink to write his words- about daggers, and love, and how neither quite kills you quickly enough.


End file.
